Page 91 of VOGUEish

All she could do was nod.

“Even though I’m the butt of every joke on every late-show monologue this week and probably for the rest of my life?” he continued. “And even though I made things worse for you during your big comeback moment?”

Tears burned behind Isabella’s eyes. She tried to smile. Was pretty sure she failed. “You were there for me on prom night, and you showed up for my comeback moment. That’s the only thing I care about.”

A round of applause filled the room.

Isabella waited until the applause died down before continuing. “If anyone should be the laughingstock of NYC, it should be me. I was stupid enough to blog about my sex life. The question is—will you ever stop hating me?”

Chandler walked toward her, his expression neutral.

She stood in place and waited for the insults to fly. She’d just given him his opportunity to humiliate her. To get revenge. To call her lily-liver and that he didn’t give a damn. To give her a sash that had the word LOSER on the front.

She held her breath and braced for the attack. She deserved whatever he dished out.

“Isabella Priscilla Chance.” He stopped halfway up the aisle. “I could never hate you.”

Isabella’s eyes filled with happy tears. “You don’t?”

He nodded. “How can I hate someone I love?”

“You love me?” Chill upon chill upon chill swept up and down her body. “But I—”

“Barbie, there are no buts. I love you. You’re my once in a lifetime. My heart. My happiness. My everything.” He held out his arms.

Isabella dropped the microphone and ran toward him.

Unfortunately, her foot got tangled up in something, and, before she could blink, she tumbled face first toward the red carpet. Her life flashed before her eyes.

The photo of her faceplanting in sand, projected on a big screen at prom.

Frankie telling her she planned to make Isabella’s life miserable for the foreseeable future.

Her parents calling her to say they were embarking on a one-year world trip they’d won from a contest they hadn’t remembered entering.

Luckily, a muscular arm saved her from the face plant.

There was another round of applause. Louder than the last.

From the audience someone asked, “Is she always so clumsy?”

And another said, “I’m confused. Did he call her Barbie?”

Isabella resisted the urge to pinch herself, and not because she…as a rule…tried to avoid pain. But because she was in the arms of the man who would always catch her when she fell.

A perfect meet cute moment between the imperfect Loser Queen of Prom and the imperfect Grinch of Manhattan.

If this was a dream where two imperfects could make a perfect, she never wanted to wake up. She liked this world where individuals didn’t choose love, but instead love chose them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Several hours later, Isabella and Chandler were finally alone. At his condo. Curled up in an oversized chair. Their shoes on the floor and soft music playing in the background. The silence draped around them like a warm blanket.

“Why did you come to the awards ceremony tonight?” She couldn’t believe things had turned out the way they had. Like a magical comeback moment.

“To watch you win the first of what’s sure to be many, many more awards in the fashion magazine industry.”

Isabella sat up straight and grimaced. “Not if Frankie Peterson has anything to do with it. That woman does not like me.”

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